


tell me it was for the hunger (& nothing less)

by possibilist



Category: The Bold Type
Genre: F/F, ITS OK IT WILL ALL BE FINE, baby kat, it’s in the show universe u just gotta read to the middle/end ok i promise, poor confused bi kid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-09 01:47:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15256728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/possibilist/pseuds/possibilist
Summary: 'you're twelve and your friend leans toward you and kisses your cheek and she's so pretty and the room is hot, like there’s no air conditioning anymore, or that there’s no breeze from the beach.'or: five times kat wants to kiss a girl, & one time she does.





	tell me it was for the hunger (& nothing less)

**Author's Note:**

> to clarify this is like kat growing up but also it’s in the universe of the show like adenas in here twice guys it’s all good
> 
> anyway here we go

**tell me it was for the hunger ( & nothing less)**

 

//

 

_for hunger is to give / the body what it knows / it cannot keep_

— ocean vuong, ‘on earth we're briefly gorgeous’

 

//

 

1

 

your arm hurts but not that badly, not as bad as you thought a broken bone would—or, both bones, because your mom let you look at the x-ray of your wrist after you slipped from your waterslide; you were crying and you’re twelve, but still your dad picked you up and they took you to the emergency room and your dad kissed the top of your head and your mom rubbed between your shoulder blades.

 

sarah wheaton is over, now, while you sit on the couch with your arm propped on some pillows, all blonde hair and blue eyes and she’s smiling while she leans over you and draws little pictures on your cast.

 

you think she’s pretty, _so_ pretty, and you think you want to be like her, confident and smart and funny and you _are_ those things; you’re the most popular girl in seventh grade and your parents have a house in the hamptons and your mom let you pick whatever bra you wanted from victoria’s secret the other day.

 

sarah is talking about her new boyfriend, how they kissed at the beach before he left to go to football camp, how they message on myspace whenever they can, and her tongue peeks out between her teeth, pink and pretty and it makes you think of a flower, maybe, and your arm aches but she smiles at you and you feel nervous, suddenly, a little upset. it doesn’t make sense, though, and so you smile back.

 

‘what’s it like?’ you ask.

 

sarah grins. ‘kissing?’

 

‘yeah.’

 

she laughs, tips her head back and _laughs_. ‘it’s weird? kind of wet, i guess. but nice.’ she draws a little heart on your cast and you swallow.

 

you nod.

 

‘kat,’ she says, puts down her marker. ‘wanna practice?’

 

you feel your cheeks _burning_ and, like, maybe you do? elliot booker has a crush on you and brought you flowers for valentines day and you don’t want to be _bad_ at it.

 

sarah leans toward you and kisses your cheek and the room is hot, like there’s no air conditioning anymore, or that there’s no breeze from the beach.

 

you back up and smile at her, and she’s laughing again, but not in a mean way.

 

‘my arm hurts,’ you say.

 

sarah nods. ‘oh,’ she says. ‘of course.’

 

‘want some ice cream?’

 

‘um, _yes_. always.’

 

you eat it outside, by the pool—the ‘scene of the crime,’ she calls it, pointing toward the slide, and you smile at her in the sun. you’re in bikinis, and some of the ice cream drips onto her fingers.

 

she licks it off and you think about it as you fall asleep, something stirring in your stomach even though your bones ache.

 

/

 

the school year starts and sarah is kissing her boyfriend in the hallway, by your lockers, so you kiss elliot and it’s nice; you let him touch your hair and he holds your books and walks you to class.

 

he has pretty green eyes and you watch your cast get sawed open, all of sarah’s little pictures put in the trash; in your room later elliot kisses the little bump left from your healed bones.

 

//

 

2

 

you’re fifteen and the most popular girl in school; you wear your skirt a little shorter than you actually should according to the dress code but you don’t get in trouble. you have the hottest boyfriend in school, giovanni rossi, an italian boy on exchange with dark hair and a tattoo. he’s a senior and will probably be prom king and you’re sophomore class president: the perfect power couple.

 

ally rodriguez is your best friend; you have four classes and newspaper together and she plays soccer and you go to all of her games; she gives you whatever jersey she’s not wearing and you admire her legs, her abs, because she’s in amazing shape and is already being recruited by both penn and princeton—you hate to work out and you’d gone running with her _once_ for twenty minutes before you felt your side cramping and instead you’d gone to taco bell and she’d fed you nachos as you’d laughed.

 

gio asks you to prom and of course you say yes. you go in a big group with all of your friends. sarah doesn’t have a date but neither do a lot of them, and you all cram into a limo and you have rum that you pass around, and then when you get there you spike each cup of punch you get.

 

you’re drunk and you’re dancing with your shoes off and your curls are wild and you’re happy. gio kisses you and you move your body with his, like the way it feels, but you dance with your  friends and ally is behind you and she puts her hands on your hips, and you think of her strong legs and her nice hands and when you turn around you remember how pretty her eyes are.

 

you feel a little out of breath and you look at her lips but then the music stops and gio is prom king and you cheer and he puts his hands on your hips and you put yours around his neck and when he kisses you it’s nice, swaying to the slow song in the hotel ballroom.

 

you all go out to ihop afterward and gio feeds you a bite of his pancakes and you let him kiss the syrup from your lips. ally is laughing on the other side of the table, throws a napkin at the two of you. your parents are out of town and you drop your friends off at their houses before you take gio back to yours.

 

he’s sweet and handsome and it hurts, a little, but he’s careful and goes slow and when you come you smile into his shoulder, don’t think of anyone else at all. his lips still taste like syrup.

 

//

 

3

 

you are _killing_ it at yale; you have a 4.0 and you never eat any meals alone when you’re in the dining hall; boys try to take you out all the time and sometimes you like some of them enough to go. it’s fun, and you go to house parties and your parents are friends with the dean so you get to have a single dorm room.

 

you like sex, and it’s easy, because you’re hot and funny as hell. there’s a string of boys and it’s super easy, letting them kiss down your body and who doesn’t love an orgasm without any strings attached?

 

one of your best friends is emami graham, who is queer and studying feminist theory and does slam poetry and can play guitar and has the coolest dreads and a little angela davis pin on her backpack. you meet her at an ivyq drag race that you go to with your friend jayden; she’s from brooklyn and she braids your hair when you’re both stoned, laughing about a boy you’d turned down at dinner.

 

you lay back on the bed with her and your room smells a little like weed and her perfume and your sides are pressed together.

 

‘i’ve never been high before.’

 

‘how you feeling?’ she asks you.

 

‘sleepy,’ you say. ‘light.’

 

she turns toward you with a grin. ‘you’re beautiful,’ she says, and you look at your mouth and swallow and she puts her hand on your thigh.

 

‘i’m not—’ you start, and it’s shaky but you feel like you can’t blink, really, and the room is starting to spin a little. ‘emani.’

 

she lets out a disappointed little sigh and nods, takes her hand off your thigh. ‘okay.’

 

‘sorry.’

 

she shakes her head. ‘nothing to apologize for.’

 

your chest is still pounding and you think you feel a _lot_ anxious because of the joint you’d shared; you’re sure that’s it.

 

she scoots over to the edge of the bed so you’re not touching and the air is heavy and you fall asleep before you can think anything else, say anything else.

 

when you wake up in the morning she’s gone; you roll over because you feel like you’re going to throw up and you press your head into the pillow. it smells like her perfume, a little, and you fall back asleep.

 

you see her later that day and she smiles and you buy her coffee, help her hit on a pretty girl a few tables over.

 

something in your stomach stirs but you’d never been high before and had felt sick all day. emani leaves with the girl and you turn back to your reading; you have class in an hour and haven’t done any of it.

 

//

 

4

 

you’re at a party in your loft that you’re throwing for the new interns because you are all kind of stressed as hell and you should make as many friends as possible, it never hurts.

 

you’ve only had one drink and you’re in the corner by your bathroom talking to niko, who has the most incredible metallic, platform sneakers and a septum piercing and a buzzed head; you think she’s probably the coolest person you’ve _ever_ seen.

 

she’s telling you about non-binary fashion and you think after a while that you’re just watching her mouth even though you want to be listening, because it’s cool and important.raheem and idrisa are making out on your couch and no one cares; you’re in new york and you’re all young and progressive and it doesn’t matter, no one is paying attention, and your hands are shaking because you’re straight, definitely, but you’re reaching for her hip before you can stop yourself when you hear jane shouting your name.

 

you smile in apology and take a deep breath.

 

niko laughs when sutton shouts for you too. ‘go, go,’ she says, waving you away.

 

you feel so much more drunk than you are, and a little confused, but jane and sutton are in your bathtub with a bottle of tequila and a bag of chips and you laugh because they’re already the best friends you’ve ever had, you think.

 

‘get in, kat,’ sutton says.

 

‘there’s room!’

 

you take off your boots and roll your eyes but you’re smiling and jane cheers and sutton slings an arm around your shoulders.

 

you take a shot of tequila straight from the bottle and eat a chip as a chaser, which is disgusting and makes your friends laugh.

 

you spend the rest of the party in the tub with them, passing the bottle back and forth, cheering, eating chips, and you’re so content you don’t think of niko at all.

 

she goes to work for helmut lang that spring and jacqueline puts you in charge of so much social and you have your flings and your one night stands because new york is full of boys that want you; you fall a lot in love with jane and sutton—and the city, and yourself.

 

//

 

5

 

adena is beautiful.

 

you’re packing vibrators and she’s making you laugh, and the tea and lights and maybe just _her_ are making you feel warm, and happy, and _different_.

 

she asks you what your sexual orientation is and you say you’re straight, because you _are_ , totally straight—except you keep talking and you think she’s kind of magic because she’s funny and open and brilliant and you kind of wish you weren’t straight, in that moment, because the candles are flickering and her eyes are deep and dark and it wouldn’t be that hard, to lean forward and press your mouth to hers.

 

you swallow because you _really_ want to, you think, and you might, but then jane is calling you and you feel shaken as fuck, so you answer it with a lot of relief because you like boys and only boys and adena smiles at you.

 

you deal with jane and when you fall asleep you dream of adena’s mouth on yours; you dream about her thighs and her jaw and her teeth on your shoulder and her tongue slitting you right down the middle. it’s beautiful and you dream of your fingers inside of her and the way she would clench around you and the cant of her hips when she comes.

 

you wake up in a cold sweat and your heart is racing and when you reach into your underwear, you’re so wet.

 

you think of the slope of adena’s collarbone and the curve of her ribcage while you touch yourself and you’re silent when you come, because it’s too much to say aloud.

 

//

 

1

 

a girl named saniyah is kissing down your neck and the bricks of the alley behind union pool are pressing against your back. her hands are cold when she unbuttons your pants and the music floats out from the bar— _i still remember everything, how we’d drift buying groceries, how you’d dance for me_ —and you’re confused and your chest hurts; you are in love.

 

you push saniyah back because you’re starting to cry, to cry _really hard_ , and she looks concerned but you wave her off and sniffle, try to get it together.

 

‘i have to go,’ you tell her, as steadily as you can; it’s winter and the tips of your ears hurt in the wind. ‘i’m sorry, i have to go.’

 

she nods and you don’t even bother with a lyft, you get a cab instead.

 

you text jane and sutton in your group chat: _started sobbing while a girl was kissing me at union pool L O L yikes_

 

sutton replies right away: _omg babe!!_

 

jane follows: _Do you want to come over? What do you need?_

 

you take a deep breath and your cab driver seems concerned because you haven’t stopped crying.

 

_i need adena_

 

/

 

you hit the buzzer of adena’s sublet in bushwick _aggressively_ but she answers, half asleep.

 

‘who is it?’

 

‘it’s me,’ you say.

 

she doesn’t say anything else and immediately buzzes you up.

 

you burst into her apartment and she looks confused. you’ve been seeing each other and you’ve slept with other women and you don’t know if she is too, only that you’re both safe.

 

‘i want you,’ you say, because you don’t know what else to.

 

adena takes a step back. ‘what—’ she stops whatever questioning because there are tears running down your cheeks and your breath is shaky. ‘kat, are you okay?’

 

you shake your head because you’re _not_ okay, because you haven’t been okay in a long time.

 

adena’s face softens and she walks toward you, takes your face into her hands, strokes under your eyes with her thumbs. ‘breathe,’ she tells you.

 

you take a deep breath in time with her and her calm, quiet smile, and then you nod when you feel more steady. ‘adena,’ you say, and it’s hard because even her name makes you want to sink to your knees, to pray, to taste her as your perdition.

 

she’s quiet and soft and lets you take a moment.

 

‘when i was twelve i broke my wrist and i think—' you shake your head because you're not sure how to tell her how long you've _wanted_ to be kissed like she kisses you. 

 

'what?'

 

you clench your jaw and lean your head back and try to compose yourself, try again: 'i know i needed to figure stuff out but i have, and i know i’ve hurt you, and you’ve been so patient and i’ve waited my whole life to—i don’t know,’ you swallow because you’re going to cry again. ‘i’ve been waiting to _find_ you.’

 

you get it all out and adena’s eyes are brimming with tears and snot is coming out of your nose and none of it is sexy but she’s so beautiful.

 

‘i’m so in love with you,’ you say, your heart racing but your hands are steady. ‘i want you. i only want you.’

 

adena smiles, the best smile you’ve ever seen, you’re pretty sure. ‘okay.’

 

you think your chest might burst. ‘yeah?’

 

adena moves her hands down to touch your jaw and she leans forward and she kisses you; you’ve wanted this forever, you think, because you’ve been hungry and now you are full.

 

you kiss her and you feel fireworks, everywhere.

**Author's Note:**

> hmu @ possibilistfanfiction on tumblr if u want


End file.
